


when it rains

by starlightwalking



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Barricade Day, Canon Era, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Combeferre doesn't want to take his friends for granted. They have shaped his life in more ways than he can ever comprehend and he wants them to know how deeply he cares for them before it's too late. But even knowing his time is fast running out, he still finds it hard to express.





	when it rains

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what canon this is in. It's not brick canon, but it doesn't really fit the musical either, even though I adapted some dialogue from there... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Who needs canon anyway? Let's just pretend they're wrong and they're not about to die, hm?  
> Also, I tagged this as Courferre but it's not explicitly romantic, more like implied, and could also be read as queerplatonic or something. I like writing in the gray areas.

"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."  
— J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Return of the King_

 

Sometimes it takes losing something to truly appreciate what you have. Watching Marius grieve for a friend he had taken for granted, Combeferre's thoughts turn to the friends he had lost and those he hopes he will retain.

He wanders around the Corinthe, trying not to count the dead bodies. A subdued murmur, comforting to his ears, floats through the air.

"Here—let me help you up," says the soft voice of Bossuet. He grasps Joly's hand and slowly, slowly they make their way from the barricade into the remains of the cafe.

Rain falls. It's slow and light, but it motivates people to move into shelter. Even sleepy-eyed Grantaire, full of wine, stumbles into the Corinthe, until only Marius and his fallen friend remain in the soft but consistent drizzle.

Combeferre stands in the doorway, watching. He feels numb. Things are not going how they were planned. Jean Prouvaire was shot; Bahorel had fallen. They had all known the risks and accepted them, but now it was more real than they could have prepared themselves for.

Courfeyrac walks past him, gripping his shoulder for a brief, comforting moment. Combeferre instinctively reaches and grabs the departing hand. Courfeyrac turns and looks at him, a question in his eyes.

"Courfeyrac..." Combeferre can't bring what he feels to his lips. But somehow Courfeyrac understands, and gives him a tired smile.

"I know," he says. Then his hand slips out of Combeferre's and he picks his way through the debris over to where Marius is now soaked to the bone.

Combeferre stares, watching as Courfeyrac gently persuades Marius to get up and take cover. Marius stumbles away from the body, and Combeferre muses on how fleeting life is.

He feels someone walk up behind him. He knows without looking that it is Enjolras. He turns and stares into his leader's eyes, wordlessly asking if this—any of this—had been part of the plan.

"You've done well," Enjolras says gently. "Get some rest."

"I'll take the watch," Courfeyrac offers, settling a blank-eyed Marius into a corner on the ground and laying a thin blanket over him.

"Thank you." Enjolras turns and faces an exhausted, expectant crowd of rebels. Combeferre wants to hear his words, too, to be comforted and strengthened in the face of destruction.

"We have lost friends today," he says, "but we have not lost the fight. Keep the faith while our flag still flies. There is hope yet; the people will rise up and join us when the time is right."

Combeferre, for all he is the guide, drinks in Enjolras' words as much as the rest of the rebels and takes heart. But a glance at Marius again fills him with uncertainty. He could die on the morrow; it is not only possible, but likely.

He sees Feuilly first, absent-mindedly scratching at a wall. He doesn't say anything, just sits down beside him for a moment.

"We're doing this for the people," Feuilly says unbidden. "And they'll join us. If not now, or tomorrow, they'll join us in spirit and purpose in the future."

"This is all worth it," Combeferre agrees, and though he knows he is trying to convince himself of it, he takes hope from Feuilly's words. Combeferre has lost his certainty in their success, but not in their cause.

"Thank you, Feuilly," he says, "for all you have done. You are the people. We are the People. And we would never have come this far without you and I and all of us."

Feuilly smiles wearily. "Thank you, Combeferre. You are inimitable."

He finds Joly and Bossuet next, curled up next to each other, half-asleep against a wall. He doesn't speak to them. He sits beside them and listens to the rain fall through the broken windows. He takes comfort in their closeness and draws strength from their company. At last he hears Bossuet's gentle snore and Joly's deep breathing and realizes that, he, too, has almost dropped off. He touches each of their foreheads briefly, then gets up.

Grantaire is deep into his last bottle of wine, staring morosely into the distance of his thoughts. Combeferre sits across from him. Absently, Grantaire offers him the bottle.

Combeferre takes a drink. The wine tastes different from what he expected, somehow—as if everything is changing at the end of the world. He gives it back to Grantaire, who downs the last of it.

"'S not like I thought it'd be," Grantaire mumbles. He's not quite there. His unfocused eyes wander toward Enjolras. "All this work...for nothing. It was always going to end this way, I s'pose, but for a moment I almost believed..."

"There is still hope," Combeferre says, and he almost believes it too.

Grantaire laughs. "You keep telling yourself that." He grunts, his eyelids drooping, before sitting back against the wall. "Y'know what I like about you, Combeferre?"

"Hm?" Combeferre asks, a smile twitching on his lips.

Grantaire takes a deep breath, then passes out.

"I like that about you, too, Grantaire," Combeferre murmurs, touching his hand.

Enjolras is fiddling with a piece of what used to be a chair leg when Combeferre approaches him. He looks even more exhausted than Combeferre feels, but judging by his concentrated scowl, he's not about to go to sleep soon.

"I thought I told you to get some sleep," Enjolras says, tapping the fragment of chair. "You're tired. I can tell."

"So are you," Combeferre points out. "You need rest, too, Enjolras. Courfeyrac is on watch. You've done enough, for all of us. Rest while you still can." He reaches out and takes the piece of wood from Enjolras's hands. "Thank you."

"For what?" Enjolras says bitterly. "I know what I told the others, but—we will fall. The people have not risen. And we've already lost more people than anyone wanted to lose. Jehan, Bahorel... I only meant for myself..." He trails off.

"You only meant for yourself to die," Combeferre finishes. He's known it all along, but the words send chills through his blood. "Enjolras, your life has value too."

Enjolras's mouth twitches. He doesn't met Combeferre's eyes. "I didn't mean that. I want to live. But if anyone has to die, it should be me."

"You have not betrayed anyone," Combeferre assures him. "We all knew the risks. We all still know. And Enjolras..." He reaches out and grips Enjolras's wrist. Enjolras flinches, then relaxes. "I will be proud to die at your side for the Republic and the people of France."

Enjolras gives him a rare smile. "You are the one I should be thanking. I am honored to call you a friend, Combeferre." He yawns, looking more relaxed than Combeferre can remember him being in months, and admits, "I think I will get some sleep."

Combeferre glances at Marius as he makes his way over to where Courfeyrac sits, watching over the barricade. Marius is fast asleep, his nose twitching. As he passes him, Combeferre thinks he hears a mumbled name, but he can't quite make it out. Colette, maybe? He guesses Colette is the woman who died, the friend he took for granted.

Combeferre doesn't want to take his friends for granted. They have shaped his life in more ways than he can ever comprehend and he wants them to know how deeply he cares for them before it's too late. But even knowing his time is fast running out, he still finds it hard to express.

He sits down beside Courfeyrac. Everyone else is asleep or pretending to be. They are alone.

"Do you think we will last through tomorrow?" Courfeyrac asks.

Combeferre shrugs. "Tomorrow, the next day. We will all be dead soon enough."

"I didn't think I would spend my last night this way," Courfeyrac admits. "I pictured myself old and content, surrounded by grandchildren." He laughs softly. "Maybe not the part with grandchildren. I could never keep a woman that long, even if I wanted to."

Combeferre's heart aches, knowing this could be the last conversation he has with this man he loves so much, but he laughs along. "Still raining," he comments. It's a meaningless remark; he says it only for the sake of saying something.

"Yeah," Courfeyrac agrees. They sit and watch the rain fall for a moment. Combeferre's eyes drift from the barricade to Courfeyrac. His friend is serene and collected, in contrast to his usual lively self. Combeferre recalls all the good times they'd had together, all the fond embraces, all the nights spent planning for this very moment. Only now that it's come, Combeferre doesn't know if he wants it.

He opens his mouth to speak, to tell Courfeyrac how much he cares for him, but Courfeyrac speaks first.

"Do you remember that night at the Musain, when Grantaire infuriated Enjolras so that the meeting concluded early, and you and I were the last to leave?" Courfeyrac says. "It was mid-autumn, and we had both a little too much wine."

Combeferre fishes the memory out of his mind. "Yes."

"We walked to my apartment together and you said something I never forgot. 'Courfeyrac,' you said, 'even if the world falls apart and the rebellion turns to ashes, I will never regret your friendship'." Courfeyrac turns and smiles at him, and the rain clears. The two events are not related, but their simultaneous occurrence seems divine, or at least Combeferre's heart believes it is.

"I wanted to respond in kind, but I was incapacitated and vomited on your shoes instead," Courfeyrac continues.

Combeferre laughs, and Courfeyrac's eyes light up.

"Courfeyrac..." he begins, but Courfeyrac interrupts him.

"I know we were drunk at the time and you were speaking in exaggeration, and neither of us were thinking about this moment, but I just want to say now, while I still can, that I feel the same," he says. He takes Combeferre's hand. "You are my greatest friend and I am glad you are the one beside me before it all ends."

The rain fades. Stars peek out from behind the clouds as a cool wind clears the sky. Combeferre stares into the night and breathes in the clean air. The sky is beautiful, and he drinks the sight of it in, knowing it will be his last time gazing into the wonder of the stars.

Courfeyrac is beside him, in all this. He always has been, and Combeferre wants him always to be, despite the knowledge that they will both likely die when morning comes.

"I love you," Combeferre says softly. And really, what more is there for him to say?

Courfeyrac sighs and leans his head on Combeferre's shoulder. "I love you, too," he says. And for a moment, the world is at peace, and Combeferre is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on tumblr as [tommorrowcomes](http://tommorrowcomes.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
